Making Whoopee
by Georgethecat
Summary: Harley turns the tables on Mr. J in hopes of getting something good for Valentine's Day --- and he's quite perplexed! And violent and murderous, of course.


_All characters belong to DC, which belongs to WB, which owns pretty much everything ever. _

What. Was. Her. Angle?

Joker drummed his fingers furiously on his desk. He'd been trying really, really, really hard to think about his dear delusional Dark Knight, but this current problem was particularly perturbing.

Here he was sitting at his desk.

Happily alone.

And it was quiet.

Unnervingly quiet.

He'd started off drawing all kinds of pictures of Batman being knifed, Robin drowning, Nightwing under a guillotine, but somehow they transformed into images of Harley. Harley being electrocuted, Harley being hit by a train, Harley being thrown off a cliff, Harley in that sheer red nightie... wait.

Where the hell was Harley? It had been at least 20 minutes since he'd heard her voice ringing through the walls of the Ha-hacienda.

Normally after she was done constructing bombs or something, she'd come around and bother him. And he'd shove her away. It was a running gag.

Why the hell wasn't she playing along?

Stranger, yet, Harley wasn't incessantly chatting.

She wasn't even demanding his attention.

And she was actually making funny jokes.

It had all started sometime after they broke out of Arkham. That was three days ago. The second night she went over to that weed's place and came back sometime in the morning. Or at least, it seemed like morning, since he'd just woken up.

When he saw her again, she was in the kitchen and his favourite breakfast – French toast, two eggs (Sunnyside up), bacon, hash browns, ham and an anchovy milkshake – was on the table, already prepared.

She said, "Mornin' Puddin'" and he grunted in reply, sitting down and immediately started stuffing his face with food.

He took a swig of his milkshake and then asked her where the hell she'd been the night before.

"Girls' night, you know how it is," she shrugged and popped some Count Chocula cereal pieces into her mouth. He rolled his eyes. That houseplant was a bad influence on his doll, giving her ideas about the evils of men and the like.

She looked at him adoringly.

He scowled.

Maybe, he thought, this was the time to finally get Harley to play Russian roulette with a loaded gun.

Then she looked at him with her biggest, saddest eyes and said: "You think maybe I could sleep in that other room? It's just, um, Red said she thought I might be coming down with something, you know something that's, um, really bad, like um, a really bad strain of that bird flu hooey and I just don't want to keep you up at night."

He nearly spat out his food. He tried to gulp it back down with an air of nonchalance.

But in his effort to avoid spitting out the hash browns, he ended up choking. He grabbed for his milkshake, trying to drink it down as he coughed. Harley rushed over to him and clapped him on the back, which helped to ease the food down. "Oh, my poor Puddin'! It's OK. I'm only thinkin' about you, you know."

He grabbed at the collar of his shirt, loosening his tie. "Sure. That'd be great. In fact, that would be absolutely splendid. Maybe Chuckles can help you move your junk out."

He cheerily went back to eating, wondering why she didn't come down with some sort of illness sooner (at least one that would overpower Pammy's power-up potion she'd given Harley like this one _seemed_ to) so he could have at least one night's peace without her trying to snuggle up to him. This was going to be great! He was absolutely, 100 per cent delighted by this. No, 110 per cent. Scratch that -- it was more like infinity per cent, if there was a such thing.

She squeezed him around the shoulders, thanking him and bouncing off to the bedroom with Chuckles the goon lumbering after her.

This was turning out to be a beautiful day already, he thought. In fact, rather than test out his newest version of Smilex on a goon, he decided to help her pack. Well, pack, then test out the new product. It still had to go through a trial run, of course. He wouldn't want any unsuspecting victims to wind up with anything less than perfection when it came to one of his trademark punchlines.

He walked through the funhouse until he reached the master bedroom. Adorned with pictures and news clippings of him, mirrors and a shelf full of clowns, it was truly an homage to the Clown Prince of Crime. Harley, her blonde hair in a ponytail, wearing a black and red striped shirt and short short shorts, was under the bed, apparently searching for something. Chuckles the goon was standing near the foot of the bed, holding open a suitcase, which was quickly filling up with clothes.

Joker walked over to a dresser, hauled out a drawer and dumped Harley's bras and panties into the suitcase. "Y'know baby, you might as well take all of your stuff out of here. Maybe this sickness will finally do you in and I don't want have to put in the effort to remove all this later on," he said, gesturing towards her things as he said 'this.'

She crawled out from under the bed, holding her popgun, and sat up on her haunches. "You're right, Puddin'. Besides, it would be nice to have my own room."

He dropped the dresser drawer onto the floor. It landed with a loud thud. Chuckles snuck a confused glance at the Boss.

"Well," Joker said, running a hand through his hair, "You don't have to take out everything. You could leave some things behind..."

She got up from the floor and picked up the dresser drawer. "No, you're right. I should take all of my things. I wouldn't want to trouble you later," she said, walking up to him and stretching on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. "You're always right."

He frowned, shoving her off him roughly enough so she fell to the floor.

Hmph, he grunted, turning on his heel and walking out of the bedroom.

He could hear Harley cheerily singing as she continued to pack up her clothes.

He decided to try his Smilex out on at least three goons.

* * *

A/N

_Bwhahah! Harley manipulation... the best kind of manipulation. Tune in to find out why she's doing it and what's gonna happen... Same Bat time, Same Bat channel. A Valentine's ode, with an anti-V-day twist. :-D _

_All reviews, concrit, etc., greatly appreciated!  
_


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